


THIEVING MAGPIE

by erestor



Series: Thieving Magpie [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erestor/pseuds/erestor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you catch a thief, do you have to keep him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Erestor is a thief and Glorfindel an old-fashioned bore. And I had way too much fun writing this!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel has an uninvited visitor.

Without a doubt, there were rats in the walls. And the Valar alone knew what other creatures might inhabit the bed he was trying to sleep in! The whole room smelt of mildew, and Glorfindel would not have been in the least surprised if the bed had collapsed at any moment under his weight. Another “squeak!” came from a corner of the small chamber, it was still raining, and when Glorfindel heard the patter of little paws under his bed, he felt like crying.

What a rat hole! Glorfindel wrapped the thick blanket around his body and silently cursed Elrond for sending him there in the first place. There had been reports of a gang of thieves making trouble just beyond the borders of Imladris, robbing travelers and stealing horses. Admittedly, that was not a good thing, but was it really necessary to send him out to deal with it? Certainly someone else could have done this job. Glorfindel was not arrogant, but he felt that choosing him was like hunting cockroaches with a war hammer.

They had investigated, but while there had been many reports of thievery, the miscreants were clever and did not leave tracks. So far, no-one had been caught, and Glorfindel’s pride began to suffer. After all, he had promised to catch the thieves within the day.

He and his guards had been drenched by heavy rainfall and had therefore decided to spend the night at the little inn. Unfortunately, it had proved to be as shabby on the inside as it had looked from the outside, a fact which had let to Glorfindel's current situation.

Glorfindel turned to face the wall, hoping that a different position might help him find some rest. He was just drifting off to sleep at last when he heard a noise at the door. Glorfindel was wide awake immediately – somebody was trying to enter his room! It was none of his guards; they would have knocked. But who else should come to visit him at this late hour?

Slowly, slowly, the door opened. Somebody entered, standing still for a moment before crossing the room. Glorfindel heard shallow breathing, then the sound of his saddle bag being opened.

Glorfindel almost laughed out loud – the impertinence of these mortals! He had to give the intruder some credit, though: this thief moved so silently that, had Glorfindel not been an Elf, he would have heard nothing.

‘There is nothing of value in my bag,’ Glorfindel thought, ‘so he will now search my cloak and then find my knife-belt.’

And indeed, he heard the rustling of fabric next, followed by a hollow, metallic sound when a knife was pulled from its sheath.

Glorfindel could feel the intruder’s eyes on his back. What now? Did the thief mean to murder him in his sleep? ‘Oh, come here, my pretty,’ Glorfindel thought, every muscle taut and ready to strike, ‘come a little closer, and I shall give you a warm welcome.’ 

As if the thief heard Glorfindel’s thoughts, the footsteps came closer, closer, until the stranger stood beside Glorfindel’s bed. The warrior could almost feel the breath of his enemy on the back of his neck, and then a hand was slipped under the pillow, groping around for gold.

With a speed no mortal could match, Glorfindel spun around, throwing the thief to the ground and grabbing for one of his knives in the same move.

“So, my pretty – it is time for your manicure!” he growled.

It should have been easy for Glorfindel to overpower the man, for he was the stronger and taller. But this thief fought like a wildcat, scratching and biting, and Glorfindel yelped when a fist struck his cheek. There was remarkable strength behind the punch, and Glorfindel chided himself for underestimating his enemy.

Glorfindel attacked with all his strength, and they wrestled, throwing over chairs and table in the course of their struggle. A vase crashed to the floor.

”Will you stay put now,” Glorfindel hissed, trying to press the other to the floor, but the thief clearly had no intention of letting himself be caught, and tried to push Glorfindel’s head away with his hand.

All this noise had not gone unnoticed in the house.

“Ye gods, what is going on here? Stop it, both of you!”

It was the innkeeper, standing in the doorway in nightshirt, nightcap and slippers, holding a candle. Hiding behind him were the cook and a woman in a morning gown.

The thief took advantage of Glorfindel’s momentary distraction. He wriggled out from under the warrior and crawled between the innkeeper’s legs towards the corridor; he was already halfway out the door when Glorfindel grabbed him by the ankle and hauled him back. 

“So, now I have you.” Glorfindel grinned, sitting on the man’s chest and holding his hands firmly in his own. The thief ceased his biting and wriggling. He was caught.

“A fine house you keep, my friend,” Glorfindel said to the inn keeper, “where decent travelers are robbed in their sleep!”

The man shuffled his feet and blushed.

“I’m sorry, my lord – when you arrived, it was very dark, so I didn’t see that you were an Elf.”

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow.

“Now what has my being an Elf got to do with this thief trying to rob me?” he asked.

The innkeeper stared down at his slippers.

“It means that the idiot did not tell me you were an Elf, otherwise I would not have sneaked into your room.”

It was the thief who replied to Glorfindel’s question, and when the warrior turned to his captive, words failed him for a moment.

Because, much to Glorfindel’s surprise, the thief was an Elf as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel bemoans the loss of Elven virtues.

Glorfindel stared down at his captive, hoping that his eyes had betrayed him. But no – the features of the other’s face were most fair, despite currently being arranged in an expression of annoyance. Dark hair, brown eyes, and – pointed ears.

“You are an Elf,” Glorfindel stated. The thief rolled his eyes.

“Of course I am an Elf.” He waggled his ears, which, under other circumstances, would have made Glorfindel smile. “See? Pointed ears. No beard. No hairy feet. Ergo – Elf. Could you now let go of my hands and get your Elvish self off my chest? You are very heavy.”

Glorfindel glared at the thief, then turned his attention to the inn-keeper.

“If I have understood this individual’s statements correctly, it was you who gave him the tip that I would be a suitable victim. What do you have to say to that?”

The man cleared his throat, while both his wife and the cook took a step back.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, my lord. I might have mentioned something… but certainly not with the intent to see you robbed, my lord! This is a decent house!”

“Now do not try to put the blame on me!” the thief protested, trying to struggle free. “It was your idea all the way! ‘You’re an Elf, nobody can hear you,’ you said. ‘You got long fingers and sharp hearing,’ you said.” He looked up at Glorfindel. “He receives 20% of the loot for his information. Let me up so I can go and strangle him!”

Glorfindel shook his head.

“Nobody will be strangled here, not even you. But Lord Elrond will learn about this, and a punishment fitting your deeds will be decided. What is your name?”

“I am Erestor. Erestor of the House of the Circling Raven.”

“Circling Raven? I have never heard of such a house!”

“Is that my fault? It was well known where I grew up. My ada was the local knacker.”

Glorfindel winced. The thought of an Elf working as a knacker went against his ideals. Erestor grinned when he saw the disgust on the warrior’s face.

“I take it that sick or dead animals vanish into thin air where you come from. Say, what is your name? At least let me know who put an end to my glorious career.”

“Most glorious, indeed,” Glorfindel growled, “you should be ashamed of your deeds! And I am Glorfindel, captain of Lord Elrond’s guards.”

Erestor’s eyes widened.

“Glorfindel? The one with the Balrog? I have heard a lot about you!”

Though this was definitely not the place or moment for such thoughts, Glorfindel noticed that Erestor had rather nice brown eyes. And now the Elf was even batting his eyelashes!

“Would you allow me to sit up? It is difficult to breathe with you sitting on my chest…” Erestor blushed, seemingly embarrassed to admit his weakness.

Glorfindel considered the plea for a moment, then nodded.

“I will allow you to sit up if you promise not to try to flee.”

Erestor nodded enthusiastically.

“I promise!” he said, and his pleading look tipped the scale. Glorfindel released Erestor’s hands, then stood up. The Elf took a deep breath and began to rub his wrists.

“Beg your pardon, my lord, but what will happen to us now?” the inn-keeper asked, looking wearily at Glorfindel.

The warrior shrugged.

“That will be up to Lord Elrond to decide. I suppose that…”

Glorfindel was interrupted by Erestor, who lunged quick as a rabbit toward the doorway, pushing people aside in his attempt to escape. But Glorfindel had good reflexes as well, honed in many battles, and so he managed to catch Erestor in full flight, holding him firmly around the waist.

“Let me go! You miserable excuse for a warrior! Take your hands off me! I am not a Balrog!” Erestor cried, kicking wildly. Alas, Glorfindel was not impressed.

“I was not born stupid, young one, and I have learned a lot since then. Pray tell – why did you flee? You promised you would not.”

Erestor ceased his struggles and burst into laughter at Glorfindel’s aggrieved tone.

“Of course I promised! But how could you be so foolish as to believe that I would be true to my word?”

Glorfindel glared at Erestor.

“You are a disgrace to all Elven kind,” he hissed, “and I am very tempted to beg Lord Elrond to build a dungeon, for the sole purpose of keeping you locked away from decent folk!”

Erestor turned his head. Glorfindel still held him in a steel grip, the lithe body of the thief pressed close to his own. Again, the damnable creature batted his eyelashes at Glorfindel, but this time, the warrior would not fall for the trickster.

“A dungeon?” Erestor purred, “How exciting! Would there be any chance for a spanking?”

Glorfindel yelled curses fit to curl the hair on a bald man’s head, but while the inn-keeper’s wife covered her ears, Erestor the shameless Elf only giggled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel becomes the victim of food theft.

Under normal circumstances, Glorfindel and his guards would have arrived at the Last Homely House by late afternoon, but Glorfindel did not dare to let Erestor out of his grasp. He had no doubt that the thief would take the first opportunity to flee, so he had decided against permitting Erestor to ride his own scrubby looking, dapple-grey horse. Instead, he had sat Erestor in front of him, and though Asfaloth was a strong horse, the additional weight of the thief slowed him down. As a consequence, dusk was already approaching and they were still hours away from Imladris.

‘Oh you Valar,’ Glorfindel sent a silent prayer to the skies above, ‘please spare me the pain of having to camp out here in the woods and endure the company of this obnoxious Elf any longer than absolutely necessary.’

Though he was holding Erestor firmly with one arm and seemed to be concentrating on his prisoner and the road ahead of them, Glorfindel let his thoughts wander to the Last Homely House. He knew that a welcoming fire awaited him, and that a meal and maybe even some mulled wine would be prepared. He would stretch out in his favourite chair in front of the fireplace, drink the spicy wine and maybe enjoy one of those amazing little almond pastries.

At that thought, his stomach grumbled.

“Are you hungry?” Erestor asked, offering Glorfindel a piece of bread. The warrior stared first at the food and then at the thief.

“Where did you get this from?” he asked, taking the bread and examining it. It was Elvish bread; as a matter of fact, it was the same kind of bread they had taken with them as provisions.

“Oh. Out of your saddlebag,” Erestor replied with his mouth full.

“My saddlebag? How did you…” Glorfindel began, but stopped mid-sentence when Erestor held up a hand and wiggled his long fingers in answer. Glorfindel opened his mouth to say a lot of rather rude things, but Erestor spoke first.

“This tastes very nice, by the way. Much better than the bread back at the tavern. Is this Lembas?” he asked, still chewing on the bread.

“First: if you wish to keep your hands, keep them out of my saddle bags. Second: do not speak while you eat - that is disgusting. Third: of course this is not Lembas. Waybread is only made on special occasions and for long journeys. For short trips, normal bread like this will do.”

“Does Lembas taste nice?” Erestor asked, “Will you give me the recipe?”

“I will do no such thing,” Glorfindel replied, slightly insulted, “I do not have the recipe; only a few, chosen Elvish ladies have it and are allowed to bake Lembas. And even if this rule should be changed one day by Yavanna’s will, a thief would certainly be the last one to benefit!”

“Chosen Elvish ladies? I did not know that.”

“There is a lot you do not seem to know,” Glorfindel grumbled. He was still hungry, but his pride forbade taking the offered bread from Erestor’s hands. “Did your parents never tell you anything about our rules and customs?”

Erestor shrugged. “My ada said that many of the noble ladies and lords have become rather weird over the ages. Say, do you know one of those chosen ladies?”

“Indeed, I do. The lady Arwen, for one, the daughter of Lord Elrond.”

“Will I see her? Is she pretty?” Erestor asked, his curiosity piqued.

Glorfindel shuddered at the thought of Erestor crossing the lady Arwen's path and possibly stealing her garters.

“She is the fairest being in all of Imladris, and no, you will not see her. It is not her custom to visit the dungeons.”

“You do not have dungeons yet, remember? And your wife, is she fair as well?”

The warrior found it rather tiring to follow Erestor's mental leaps. How had they come to discussing his non-existent wife from talking about Lembas?

“I am not married,” Glorfindel answered, hoping that this would end the conversation. Alas, his hopes were disappointed.

“Not married? Well, there is one wise Elf if I ever met one. So, tell me about your lover, then.”

“Would you please stop being obnoxious. Of course I do not have a lover!” Glorfindel replied, outraged at such an insulting implication.

Erestor, who had just opened his mouth to take another bite of the bread, paused and looked at the warrior with a mixture of amusement and pity.

“I am so very sorry to hear this, though I cannot really understand it. I mean, you are fairly handsome, and warriors hold great attraction, especially for young ladies. Certainly it cannot be that difficult to find a lover. Do you have bad breath? Or will your little warrior not stand sentry anymore?”

“It has nothing to do with any of those things,” Glorfindel exploded, “decent Elves do not take lovers! Once two Elves get… make… are… well, once two Elves are one Elf they are considered married, so there should be no such thing as 'lovers'!”

Erestor, who had correctly assumed that Glorfindel was an old-fashioned Elf who adhered to the morals and values of ages past, would have rubbed his palms together in glee at the success of his little jibe if he’d had his hands free.

But, since he was still holding the bread, he confined himself to enjoying the blush of embarrassment on the warrior's face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel is left behind.

Imladris was now only an hour’s ride away. Glorfindel could not wait to return to the Last Homely House, for Erestor was driving him insane. The Elf showed no respect for the values the warrior held dear, he asked the silliest questions, and he seemed entirely unconcerned about the consequences of his crimes. Any other Elf or Man known to Glorfindel would have been shivering in fear at the prospect of facing Lord Elrond’s wrath.

Erestor, however, behaved as if they were on their way to a birthday party.

A light drizzle began. Soon they were riding through fog so thick they could barely make out the heads of their horses in front of them, and so none of the Elves saw the rope stretched across the road. The horses ran into the rope, rearing and wheeling and falling in chaos. Four of the six guards where thrown from their saddles. Glorfindel, who had fallen behind the others, only just managed to pull Asfaloth up in time.

“What is going on?” he screamed, but any replies were drowned out by yells from the robbers who had been hiding in the bushes.

Glorfindel immediately let go of Erestor, jumping from his horse and drawing a sword. He stormed forward, stabbing and slashing left and right, but the battle was soon over. His guards fought bravely, but the Elves were greatly outnumbered. Just as he pinned one man to the ground with his sword, Glorfindel was hit hard on the back of his head. His vision darkened and he fell to the ground. The last thing he noticed was that Asfaloth was gone.

And so was Erestor.

* * *  
Glorfindel awoke with a dull headache. He tried to touch his head, but that was not possible – his hands were bound. He groaned when he tried to move; his feet had been tied together as well, and the tight bonds had cut off his circulation.

“Goldilocks has finished his beauty sleep,” one of the robbers sniggered, and several heads turned in Glorfindel’s direction. Glorfindel would have loved to give the man a suitable reply, but as he was gagged, his protest was reduced to an angry glare. He did a quick count – there must be at least 30 of the scoundrels, if not more. His guards were bound and gagged as well, sitting or lying on the ground beside him. He could see the anger in their eyes, but also the fear of their unknown future.

Erestor, however, was nowhere in sight. The thief had taken Asfaloth and fled, not bothering to help them. Though the cowardice of a thief should have been Glorfindel’s least concern considering his situation, the thought that a fellow Elf was capable of such a betrayal stung.

A tall, brawny man with a beard approached, and from his manner and the other men's willingness to make way for him, Glorfindel concluded that he was the leader. The man towered over Glorfindel, and kicked him hard in the hip. The gag muffled the Elf's grunt of pain.

"You. Do you speak my language?" the man snarled, kicking Glorfindel again. The warrior decided that it would be best to play dumb. Maybe that would give him a chance to discover the robbers' intentions.

If he lived long enough to find out, that was.

When the man saw only confusion in Glorfindel's eyes, he gave the Elf one final kick and returned to his comrades.

"No use, he doesn't understand."

"Bloody shame, he'd bring more money if he did," one of the robbers said, earning himself a slap on the head from the bandit chief.

"Shut up, we lost more money because you let the female escape," he barked, and the robber scrambled out of his reach. He rubbed the sore spot on his head, then shrugged.

"Eh, she was too quick! One moment I saw her, the next she was on the horse and gone. You know what them Elf horses and Elf witches are like. Sure as I stand here she used a spell or something!"

Female? What female? While the two men continued to argue, Glorfindel tried to make sense of their words. Then it dawned on him: they had seen Erestor’s lithe figure and, without seeing his face, had thought him a woman!

Ah, Erestor - Glorfindel wished the thief a thousand Orcs on his neck, unwashed ones if possible! He trembled in helpless anger, and not only over the behaviour of that honourless Elf. They were so close to Imladris, but yet not close enough for the sentries to find them; he was responsible for his guards and could do nothing to help them. Once again, he struggled to rid himself of his bonds, but to no avail.

"Get the cage!" somebody yelled, and to Glorfindel's horror a wagon drawn by two horses rolled into the clearing. A large cage was fixed upon it with heavy chains, and at their leader’s command, the robbers began to carry the Elves over to the vehicle. Glorfindel felt sick with rage. How dare they lock them up like animals!

The men threw the Elves into the cage, at which their leader cursed their carelessness. Cold fear grasped Glorfindel's heart when he heard the man order his crew 'not to damage the merchandise'. So that was what they were to the men - merchandise! To be sold, the Valar knew where or to whom! He could and would not allow that. He had not returned from the Halls of Waiting to end up as the exotic pet of some wealthy merchant or noble. For now, he was helpless, but they could not keep him bound for all eternity. Once he was free, he would find a way to escape.

After an agonising day's journey for the bound Elves, the wagon came to a halt in a clearing. The robbers made a fire and began to prepare a meal, not bothering to provide food or even drink for their captives. Glorfindel would have given anything for a mouthful of cool water, but it was obvious that the well-being of the Elves was not the bandits’ first concern.

After the meal, the men spread out their bedrolls and settled down for the night, save the four who stayed awake to guard the camp. One of them approached the cage and shook a large bunch of keys in front of Glorfindel's face, taunting him. Then the man walked away, laughing, to sit on the grass and fill his pipe.

The night grew colder and heavy rain started to fall. The wagon had been parked under a large tree, but it offered little shelter, and so the Elves were soaked to the skin. Glorfindel's hip ached badly. So did his head, and he was sure he was not the only one injured. He was hungry, thirsty, and miserable. He had managed to spit out the gag, but still his mouth was sore and dry. When the guard was not looking, he licked the bars of the cage. The water had a foul, metallic taste, but it was better than nothing. Glorfindel pressed his forehead to the cold iron bars, turning away from his fellow Elves.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he saw something rather peculiar.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel witnesses fascinating events.

At first Glorfindel believed it was an optical deception, caused either by his general state of exhaustion or the blow he had received to his head. Then he squinted, realising that his eyes had not betrayed him and that, indeed, some large animal was slowly creeping up to the guard, who sat in blissful ignorance under a tree in the grass and smoked.

Immediately, Glorfindel’s spirit lifted. If the animal were to attack the man, that would certainly cause some confusion in the camp, providing them with a chance to escape. He focused on the large dark figure which had now almost reached the guard, ready to attack and maul him. This was not a warg, Glorfindel decided; rather some very large cat, for the animal's movements were far too elegant and soundless for a rough beast. Glorfindel stared at the scene, preparing for the attack.

Alas, there was no mauling, no yelling, no ripped flesh. Instead, something swished down, and only Glorfindel's Elven ears could hear the ugly thudding noise of the object's impact with the robber’s head. There was no cry, for a narrow hand had immediately closed over the man’s mouth and muffled his pained grunt.

It was now that Glorfindel realised that it had been neither warg nor cat approaching the guard, but Erestor.

Glorfindel watched with increasing amazement the thief, who arranged the limp form of the unconscious robber under the tree, just like an Elfling would have done with a rag doll. From a distance, his comrades would think that the man was merely leaning back comfortably.

Now Erestor started to search the man's pockets. Glorfindel had expected him to take the bunch of keys, but his hopes were disappointed - Erestor seemed to have other plans. His hands disappeared into the folds of the man's cloak and garments, transferring various objects from pockets and pouches to his own small bag. Glorfindel was confused, and with his confusion came anger. Had this obnoxious Elf only followed them for looting? He thought of the thief's flippant comment about a spanking in the non-existent last homely dungeons, and by the Valar, should Glorfindel ever be free again and get Erestor in his hands, the thief would not be able to sit for at least two weeks!

But by now, Erestor had obviously decided that the demonstration of his skills was finished, and he reached for the bunch of keys. Glorfindel had to grudgingly admit that Erestor was a master of his profession. Not a sound could be heard, no clinking or rustling as the thief's long, nimble fingers closed around the bunch and pulled it from the robber’s belt.

These events had gone unnoticed by the other robbers, but sooner or later, the guard would change or somebody would come to look after the prisoners, so Erestor had no time to waste. He laid flat on the ground, and began to crawl toward the wagon. The grass was high and almost covered the thief’s lithe form, his black hair and dark clothing were perfect camouflage in the night.

It did not take him long to reach the wagon. Erestor crawled underneath it, then crouched on the backside next to Glorfindel.

"Why have you been loitering for so long over there?" Glorfindel hissed. Erestor grinned, not looking at all nervous or frightened.

"Now listen, Fin, you are not exactly in a position to make complaints at the moment," he whispered, "I already lost a lot of gold by following you great warriors through the wood instead of going to the fair in the next village. As I cannot help myself to the purses of the merchants, I have to do with the ones of the robbers. I am dependant on a steady income."

"You..." Glorfindel growled, at a loss in the face of such impertinence, "you... do not dare to call me 'Fin' ever again!"

Another grin from Erestor.

"It looks like you are in the soup," he whispered, "so you should be nice to the one who has the spoon." He held up the keys and wiggled his eyebrows.

It was a good thing that Glorfindel was bound, or he might have given in to the momentary temptation to reach through the bars and strangle Erestor. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

"Roll around," Erestor ordered, "with your back facing me."

Glorfindel obeyed. He took his time; turning was not easy as he was bound hand and foot, and he did not want to attract his captor's attention by making any noise. When he finally felt the bars pressing against his hands, he gave a sigh of relief.

"Give me a moment," Erestor whispered, then he reached down and pulled a small knife from his boot. Glorfindel held his breath when the cold steel touched his skin, and he released it with a hiss when the ropes fell away from his wrists. Blood began to circulate in his numb hands. It was painful, but he could not risk a groan, so he clenched his jaws and concentrated on Erestor instead, who was now cutting the bonds around his ankles.

The warrior experimentally moved his feet. It would take him a moment to be able to stand, and so he waited for his limbs to resume their normal functions. In the meantime, Erestor crawled around the wagon and cut the bonds of two more Elves. The other four he could not reach. He returned to the place where Glorfindel lay, then pressed the handle of the knife in his hand, and Glorfindel took a firm hold of it.

"Four of your guards are still bound. How long will it take you to free them?" Erestor asked.

"I cannot tell. I have to be careful not to make a noise," Glorfindel whispered back.

Erestor considered the situation for a moment.

"I will open the door now. The lock looks rusty, and will probably jar when I turn the key. It is very likely they will hear this sound. So this is all the time you have to free your guards."

Glorfindel nodded. "Where are the horses?"

"Your ugly beast is waiting for you right behind me, hidden in the forest. The other horses are over there. See where the three men stand, one of them wearing a bright red shirt? Behind them your horses are kept. If you listen carefully, you can hear them neighing."

That was bad news. To get to the horses, the Elves would have to cross the camp, and if they had to flee on foot, the robbers would certainly recapture them in no time. However, fleeing alone on Asfaloth's back and leaving his guards behind was not an option.

"Leave the robbers to me," Erestor said, "it takes a thief to fool one. Wait for the owl to cry, then get out of the wagon and run to your horses."

Glorfindel, who had just opened his mouth to protest, felt a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Trust me, Fin. I can handle this."

Glorfindel could have listed a million reasons why he thought that Erestor was not able to handle anything besides purses and pockets, but he also knew that trusting the thief was his only option.

He heard Erestor move around the wagon, and Glorfindel began to cut the bonds of the four Elves, whispering Erestor’s instructions to them. This procedure went unnoticed, but then Glorfindel could hear an ugly sound. It was the jarring of the key in the lock. The noise rang through the air, disturbing the quiet night. Immediately, some of the robbers turned their heads, and three got up to see what was going on.

It would only be a matter of moments before their captors reached the wagon, and Glorfindel was sweating blood and water. Then there was the promised cry of an owl, immediately followed by Erestor's voice calling loud and clear from the other end of the camp.

"Hey, you ugly fat maggots!" he shouted. Glorfindel's heart stood still for a moment when he saw Erestor standing there, waving his arms. Now was not the time for heart attacks, though, and when he saw that all heads, including those of the three robbers who had been coming to check on the prisoners were turning to the intruder, he quickly shooed his guards out of the cage.

In the meantime, Erestor was jumping up and down, yelling insults and throwing the stolen coins in the air.

"You bunch of idiots! Pitiful excuses for thieves! Look! While you sat here around the fire, drunk and lazy, I stole all your money! You could not even steal candy from a babe!"

Erestor laughed wildly, and did not seem in the least impressed by the angry men who were now running towards him.

The next few moments were a gallimaufry of epic proportions. Somebody yelled "the Elves are gone!" then there was shouting and the sound of galloping horses. The blades of many knives reflected in the light of the fires, and Erestor found himself confronted by a very large, very muscular and very angry man.

"I'll cut your brazen tongue out, you bastard!" he barked, and lunged at Erestor. The Elf was very quick and jumped aside, only to be grabbed roughly by the arm. Finding himself staring in the unwashed face of another robber, he wrinkled his nose.

"Good grief, your breath is revolting. Did you gargle with garlic juice this morning?"

Erestor used the robber's momentary confusion about this statement to kick him hard in the groin. The man yelped and toppled over, howling in pain. Erestor ran away, trying to make his way out of the camp. He jumped over bags and men, and escaped knives and horses. What a steeplechase! If only he could get away from the clearing, it would be easy for him to disappear in the forest. The robbers would probably rather chase after their escaped prisoners than after him, and he could hide in a tree until everything was over.

Many of the robbers were on horseback, riding across the clearing to follow the Elves, and not caring much whether they ran over their fellow comrades in the process. Erestor escaped the hooves of the animals only through sheer luck. There were men and horses everywhere, a dozen hands grabbing for him, and knives aimed in his direction. He had only made it to the centre of the clearing when he suddenly realised that he stood with his back to one of the large fires, and was surrounded by his enemies.

"Get him!" the leader of the bandits screamed, "One more to sell! And bring me back the others, or I swear I'll hang you all myself!"

A fine mess he had gotten himself into here - maybe the best option would be to fall back into the fire. Going to the Halls of Waiting was definitely more desirable than falling into the hands of these ogres!

The ground vibrated under Erestor's feet, and he heard the pained screams of men. His nose filled with the stench of burnt hair, for he stood too close to the fire. Someone grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into the air, almost choking him in the process. Again, hands were trying to hold him, but luckily the hooves of a big horse stomped down, smashing anyone who got in his way. Erestor tried to struggle free. His head spun, there was noise and fire everywhere, and the need for breathing became overwhelming.

"Cease the fidgeting and take a firm hold!" someone barked at him, and only then did Erestor realise that he was sitting in front of Glorfindel on Asfaloth. His fingers fisted in the horse's mane, and he squeezed his eyes shut while Glorfindel rode them through fire and noise into the safety of the forest.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel feels very old.

They rode for hours before Glorfindel finally decided that there was enough distance between themselves and their pursuers to risk some rest. They brought their horses to a halt by the banks of a small pond framed by bushes and rocks.

"A lovely place. Maybe we should take a bath?" Erestor suggested. He was not used to riding for such a long time, and his backside was rather sore. Thus, the prospect of diving into cool water was very tempting.

But Glorfindel shook his head.

"I do not wish to face my enemies in the nude. We cannot feel safe until we are back within the borders of Imladris. But we need water. Let us rest, quench our thirst, and then continue our journey."

Erestor looked disappointed, but did not gainsay Glorfindel's orders. He watched the warrior limp to the pond, and saw how his face painfully distorted when he tried to kneel down to get some water.

"Sit down here on the stone, Fin. I will bring you water," he said.

"For the last time, do not call me 'Fin'," Glorfindel growled, but he obeyed and sat down on a large stone.

Erestor knelt down and gathered water in the hollow of his hands. Carefully, so as not to spill the liquid, he returned to Glorfindel. The warrior did not hesitate, drinking greedily. None of the many wines in Elrond's cellar could have tasted as delicious as this plain water!

"Want more?" Erestor asked, and Glorfindel nodded. Two more times the thief made his way from the pond to the stone, until Glorfindel shook his head and stated that he was no longer thirsty.

"So what are you going to do with me now?" Erestor asked, and sat down beside Glorfindel.

The warrior pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"I will bring you to Imladris, where Lord Elrond will decide what will happen to you."

Erestor arched an eyebrow.

"I appreciate the thought, and it is not that I would mind meeting Lord Elrond. However, I have a better suggestion: you let me go my way, I shall not cross yours again, and we both forget that this ever happened."

Glorfindel shook his head.

"I cannot do that, Erestor. You have broken the law, and so you must be punished."

Erestor jumped up.

"That is not fair! After all, I have saved your life!" he protested.

"And I have saved yours in return. One right does not make up for one wrong, young one, but Lord Elrond is a mild judge, and he will certainly take into account that you came to our rescue. Those are the rules. They must be obeyed."

Erestor angrily kicked a stone, and it skidded over the ground and into the pond. Then he glared at Glorfindel with contempt.

"Next time you get in a fix, do not hope for me to come and help you out, ancient one. And as for Lord Elrond and your rules: stick them where the sun never shines but the wind often blows."

With that, he patted his backside provocatively, turned around and went to the horses.

Glorfindel shook his head. He would not have tolerated such brazen speech under normal circumstances, but Erestor had been right on one point: not for the first time in these last months, Glorfindel really did feel ancient, and so he let Erestor's insolence slip.

* * *

"This is Imladris," Glorfindel announced. His words were heavy with love, admiration and awe for the Last Homely House, the place where he had found shelter, friends and peace after so many centuries. Imladris was not Gondolin, of course, but it was his home, and he had hardly ever felt as relieved to return as today.

Not even Erestor, who had decided to hate absolutely everything Glorfindel liked on principle, found the courage to make a comment. The sight of the buildings, the forests, the waterfalls rising from the mist of the early morning, was too beautiful and breathtaking. Never had he seen anything like this in his travels! Erestor had spent most of his young life in the cities of men. As an Elfling, he had once visited Lothlórien with his parents, but the stiff, ceremonial atmosphere of the Golden Wood was not to his liking, and so the Elven realms held little attraction for him.

The horses had slowed down, and Erestor noticed that Glorfindel was not leading Asfaloth anymore; he merely held the reins loosely in his hands. The large white horse seemed to know his way along the small mountain path. Erestor, who was afraid of heights, squeezed his eyes shot while they made their way towards the bridge. The thundering of the Bruinen filling his ears, and he only opened his eyes when Asfaloth came to a halt.

Two Elves, armed with bow and arrows, stood in front of them, bowing deeply.

"Greetings, Lord Glorfindel. We are very happy to see you and your guards return. Lord Elrond had begun to worry about you, and he and Master Feronil had been discussing sending out a search party for you."

Glorfindel returned the greeting.

"Thank you, my friends. I shall report to Lord Elrond immediately."

"This might not be the best of times, my lord," the first guardian replied. "He has a visitor. King Glaumli II is here to discuss some business with Lord Elrond."

Glorfindel winced.

"Does this mean that Imladris is overrun with Dwarves at the moment?" he asked, and shuddered.

"Well - I volunteered to guard the borders, my lord..." the first guard murmured.

Glorfindel hung his head.

"In other words: yes. Very well then, I will let Lord Elrond know that we are back and alive, and then lock myself in my chambers for the next week."

The guards stepped aside, and the small group of warriors crossed to bridge.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel returns home.

Elrond went through the papers once more with a rather desperate expression on his face before looking up. His gaze settled briefly on each council member before finally focusing on Feronil, the youngest of his advisors.”

"So what would you suggest, Master Feronil? Shall I sign Green Meadow Hill over to Glaumli II, or should I refuse his plea?"

Feronil, who had, as usual, been daydreaming of Lord Elrond, himself and a bottle of almond oil, startled when he heard that much-loved voice addressing him out of the blue. He sat up straight, blushed, and cleared his throat.

"My lord, maybe we should give it to him, if he has set his heart on it. Then again, maybe we should not. Of course, he would owe us a favour if we should agree. But on the other hand, we do not need any favours from the Dwarves. But maybe one day this will change? So yes, I guess we should sign the contract. But maybe there are reasons that do not favour such a decision… are there?"

Feronil's words drifted off as he noticed all too well the disapproving looks of the other advisors. Melpomaen went so far as to slap his forehead, and Galdor looked as if he would hit his head on the table very soon. Or maybe Elrond's head, for he had been the one responsible for Feronil's presence in the council.

The young Elf was as suitable as an advisor as a chicken was for swimming. It took Feronil two hours in the morning to decide what robe to wear, and another hour to come to a decision regarding the clasps in his hair. As a matter of fact, Elrond had never met a more undecided individual in all his life. Feronil made Ents look decision-happy, and nobody would have blamed Elrond if he had removed Feronil from the council and sent him back to his parent's house.

But Elrond did not wish to send Feronil away. On the contrary, he enjoyed these meetings immensely because they provided him with hours of undisturbed pleasure – the pleasure of watching Feronil. When the advisor would begin to fiddle nervously with the scroll in front of him and cast shy glances at the members of the council from under long lashes, Elrond thought it the most adorable sight in Arda.

But it was not only the warmth in the dark brown eyes, or the shy smile, or any of the Elf’s other superficial benefits that appealed to Elrond. Feronil's whole being was loveable. Elrond could not remember ever having seen him sad or grumpy. Nothing could be so bad that Feronil could not find a positive side to it. Given the chance, he could most probably find some likeable qualities in the dark lord Sauron himself.

In other words: Elrond was absolutely, totally and completely besotted with Feronil. Feronil, in turn, was deeply in love with Elrond. Both thought themselves to be the only ones to know the well-kept secret of their allegedly unrequited love. As it is often the case with such secrets, however everybody knew about it. Luckily, the Elves of Imladris had the decency not to mention their knowledge in the presence of their lord and his advisor. So Elrond gazed at Feronil, Feronil gazed at Elrond, and Glaumli II, Green Meadow Hill and Arda in general were forgotten.

The two Elves were pulled out of their dreamy state of mutual admiration by a hard knock on the door. There was only one Elf in Imladris who made his presence known in such a way, and Elrond's face lit up.

"Come in, Glorfindel," he called, "we have been waiting for you!"

The smile on Elrond's face disappeared immediately when he saw the battered state of his captain.

"Glorfindel! What has happened? You are injured!"

The warrior shook his head.

"It is nothing, my lord, only a few bruises. One night's sleep in my own bed, and I will be fine again."

Elrond, who was well aware of Glorfindel's tendency to downplay injuries, arched an eyebrow. He decided to address the issue later in private, and turned his attention to the young Elf Glorfindel had dragged into the council chamber.

"I see you have brought a guest with you."

"Not a guest,” Glorfindel corrected Elrond's statement, "rather a prisoner. He is a thief whom I caught red-handed, and I brought him here so that justice may be done. I must add, though, that he has saved the lives of me and my guards, so I ask you for a mild verdict."

"A-ha," Elrond said, "so here we have a thief-gone-hero. Pray tell, young one, what is your name, and why did you steal? It is not the way of the Eldar to become thieves."

Erestor, who had looked meek for all of one minute due to the presence of Lord Elrond, shrugged his shoulders.

"I am Erestor, my lord, Erestor of the House of the Circling Raven, victim of an unfortunate misunderstanding, and I do not see what the difference is between Silmarils and bread," he said, "though bread is far easier to digest. This reminds me that I am rather hungry. When is dinner served?"

The whole council including Glorfindel held its breath and ducked their heads. Elrond was well known for his quick temper, and such brazenness would without a doubt result in a fit of rage.

Alas, Elrond only stared at Erestor, and then he began to laugh. It was a loud, hearty laugh, and Glorfindel would have joined in if it had not been about Erestor, who looked incredibly smug.

"My, you have caught yourself a fine bird here, Glorfindel," Elrond chuckled, and patted Erestor's shoulder. "I will pronounce a verdict during tomorrow's council, Erestor of the Circling Raven. Now go and satisfy your hunger."

Erestor bowed his head and grinned when he noticed the grumpy expression on Glorfindel's face. The two turned to the door.

"Glorfindel,” Elrond called after them when he saw how his captain limped to the door, "go to the House of Healing. I shall be with you in a short time and will tend to your wounds.”

"But my lord…” Glorfindel began to protest, but Elrond cut him off.

"That was not a request.”

Glorfindel sighed and followed Erestor out of the door, looking like one who had returned from the battlefield after a lost war.

* * *  
"You stay here and wait for me," Glorfindel ordered, "and do not dare to even show the tip of your nose outside of these rooms! I do not wish you to wander around Imladris unattended. I will be back soon, and then we will find a chamber for you."

Erestor teetered experimentally up and down on the narrow bed, then probed the mattress with his index finger.

"I like it quite fine here," he replied, which was a blatant lie. Even a stable would have been more welcoming than this bleak, cold chamber.

"Now what a pity - it is already occupied," Glorfindel replied through gritted teeth, and then he headed for the door. He almost collided with a maid who had come to bring some cheese, bread, fruits and wine.

"Put everything on the table there," Glorfindel grumbled, "and make sure you count your fingers before you leave. Should one be missing, ask him for its whereabouts."

With that Glorfindel left for the Healing Houses, leaving one puzzled maid and an amused Erestor behind. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Erestor pointed at the chair beside the table and smiled at the maid.

"Would you do me the honour of being my guest for this meal, my lady? I am a stranger here and would like to learn more about my new home."

The maid blushed and giggled.

"Oh, I am not a lady - I am just one of the kitchen maids. And I should really return to the kitchen now, or I will be scolded by the cook."

Erestor batted his lashes and pouted his lips.

"Only one minute, my lovely new friend. I have heard so much about the spectacular hospitality in Imladris. Do not let me doubt it."

Erestor could charm a deer out of his antlers, and so the maid sat down opposite him. At first she fiddled with the strings of her apron, but when Erestor invited her to help herself to the fruits, she thanked him and nibbled on a grape.

"So, my dear," Erestor began, stretching out lazily on the bed, "and now tell me all you know about our handsome Balrog slayer!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel is getting healed.

"Arrow? Spear? Axe?" Elrond's assistant asked when he saw Glorfindel limping into the House of Healing. He rushed to the warrior's side to help him, but Glorfindel waved him off.

"No. Boot. Only a few minor bruises. I told Lord Elrond that I do not require any assistance, but he insisted I should come here and that he would have a look at it."

"Then you have chosen wisely to follow his orders, my lord," the healer said, bowing his head slightly. "The last time you claimed to have 'only a few minor bruises', we had to remove the tip of an arrow from your..."

"I really do not see what purpose the retelling of old tales serves," Glorfindel cut him off, "do what must be done and do it quickly."

The healer rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

"As you wish. Please remove your jerkin and tunic, my lord, and lie down while I prepare a poultice for your minor, insignificant bruises."

Glorfindel ignored the sarcastic undertone in the healer's voice. He removed his garments while the healer set to work by the fire. Glorfindel was glad the other Elf had turned his back on him, so he could at least grimace with pain, for his pride forbade him to groan. When he had finally divested himself of all his clothes, he lay down on his front on one of the examination tables and tried to find a halfway comfortable position.

When the healer had finished adding all the ingredients into the small kettle hanging over the fire, he returned to his patient.

"I have to attend to another patient now, my lord, who suffered a wound from an arrow yesterday and is in a critical state. I am sure Lord Elrond will be with you very soon. I have prepared everything. Allow yourself some rest."

Glorfindel growled something, and the healer left. The air was filled with the heavy scent rising from the kettle over the fire, and Glorfindel, exhausted from the last days' trials, fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

The maid had left quite a while ago, but Erestor was still staring at the door that had closed behind her.

He had hoped for a laugh. He had talked to the maid for one reason only: to find Glorfindel's weak spot. The thief had planned to teach the stern, fusty warrior a lesson. He had planned to point and laugh. And now he sat here, his anger evaporated and replaced by pity. Or was it compassion?

What he had heard was the story of a hero. A hero who had been returned to a world that was not his, one from which all of his friends had departed, where his family had been long since murdered and his former home had become nothing but a memory. A story of nightly screams that everybody knew about, but that nobody mentioned out of respect for an Elf who had once given his life to save so many, and who had been rewarded for his courage with centuries of loneliness.

The Valar obviously had a rather odd sense of justice.

Erestor got up and examined the room. Nobody would have thought a lord lived there. There was no luxury, nothing personal about the room, and none of the little things every Elf held dear. Nothing to add colour or warmth to Glorfindel's life. There were no pictures on the walls, no tapestries, no flowers. No books. Not even a carpet. Had it not been for the hair brush on the chest of drawers, one could have thought the room to be uninhabited.

Erestor opened the cupboard. He did not feel bad about sneaking in Glorfindel's personal belongings. The thief was not without a conscience, but his curiosity usually got the better of him.

Alas, the contents of Glorfindel's armoire did not serve to expand Erestor's knowledge of the warrior. He shook his head in confusion. How could this be possible? Every tinkerer and hawker had more clothes than Glorfindel! There were three pairs of leggings, a cloak, two robes, a small pile of shirts, undergarments and a jerkin. The clothes, though of good quality, were simple. All of them had been neatly folded. Erestor took out one of the formal robes. It was of heavy, dark blue velvet, but it was unadorned, with none of the intricate embroideries that were usually a trademark of Elvish garments.

Erestor hung the robe carefully back in the cupboard and closed the door. What next? The chest of drawers. Maybe that was where the true nature of Glorfindel could be found? He pulled out the top drawer of the plain oak piece of furniture and looked inside. Bow's wax. A knife. Some rolled-up bow strings. A sharpening stone. Small strips of leather. Erestor remembered that Glorfindel had held his braids out of his face with those. Two plain silver clasps, probably to be worn on more official occasions. An armguard, the leather dark from sweat, oil and age.

Frustrated, Erestor closed the top drawer and tried the middle one. The crop of information was here even smaller than he had feared. The drawer contained nothing but a bundle with drafts for an armoury inventory.

"You are my lucky one, number 3," Erestor murmured, and pulled out the bottom drawer. This time, however, his lucky number seemed to have failed, because drawer number 3 was completely empty. Disappointed, Erestor slammed it shut.

This was depressing. How could anybody live in such a way? Did Glorfindel never have fun? Was there no light and laughter in his life, only task schedules and armoury inventories? Erestor shivered. The thought of having to live like that scared him, and he tried to imagine what Glorfindel would look like if he smiled. All he could envision with was Glorfindel in the cage, his face marked with pain. Glorfindel, saving him from certain death with a grim and determined expression on his face.

Erestor shook his head. This was wrong. Glorfindel, being an Elf who took the values of the days of old so seriously, should know that the first duty of the firstborn is to be happy - not to hide away in dusty chambers, but enjoy the sun and be merry.

"Well," Erestor said to himself, "he is a busy Elf - he probably forgot about it. I think I should try to remind him."

With that, Erestor left the chamber, ignoring Glorfindel's explicit orders not to leave under any circumstances, and went to locate the Healing House.

* * *

"Can't you look where you put your feet, you thoughtless muck-rake?" the Dwarf barked at Erestor, who had run into him in the corridor. The Elf, his thoughts as usual a good distance ahead of his feet, had not seen King Glaumli II. The Dwarf, caught off his guard, had stumbled and fallen over. He now sat on the floor, glaring angrily at the Elf.

"My apologies," Erestor said in his most apologetic tone, and bent down to the Dwarf. "It was not my intention to insult or hurt you. May I help you up?" He reached out to the king, but the angry Dwarf pushed the offered hand aside.

"No, you may not! Get out of my way and my sight; that would be the best service!"

"I am really sorry, how could I be so thoughtless," Erestor said, "let me at least try to clean you up." He began to brush the dust off the Dwarf's shoulders and arms, which caused Glaumli II to flee, swearing loudly. Erestor arched an eyebrow and looked after the angry Dwarf. Then he inspected the gemstone and polished it with his sleeve. With a bit of luck, he would already be on his way to the next realm before the king would notice his loss.

* * *

Glorfindel dreamt, and he knew that he was dreaming. That knowledge did not, however, make his dreams any less horrible. They were always the same, and over time he had become a watcher as well as a participant.

He was back in Gondolin, and the searing heat the Balrog radiated was as real as the chaffing of the armguard on his wrist. Any moment now the demon's whip would dig deep into Glorfindel's flesh, and then he would wake up screaming, his body covered with cold sweat, bed sheets tangled around his body. It would take a few moments for him to realise that he was not in Gondolin any more, but in a chamber in Imladris, a place that should have been his new home, but had never become more than a place to stay.

He was surrounded by the fire now, and he could smell the stench of his hair catching fire. Flames danced in front of his eyes, and there was nowhere to run. He heard the cracking of the whip and prepared for the pain, but it never came. Instead, a pair of arms gently embraced him and pulled him up, higher and higher, up into the night sky, and there was no fire anymore, only cool air, silence and peace.

* * *

Erestor had no problems finding the House of Healing. It was surrounded by a large garden with all kinds of healing herbs, and so Erestor had only to follow his nose. He knew a thing or two about healing; an Elf of his trade more often than not had to look after his needs himself.

He entered, and saw Glorfindel lying on a table. The warrior was alone, and judging by the vacant look in his eyes, he was asleep. Erestor frowned. He had expected to find Lord Elrond here, or at least a healer. Why did they neglect Glorfindel? Did the warrior not deserve at least the treatment of his wounds?

Erestor stepped closer to Glorfindel, then he halted and swallowed hard. The warrior's body was covered in bruises from his hip to his shoulder. They were still faint, which meant the injuries were deep under the skin, and that it would take many days for them to surface and finally heal. This had to be very painful, and he admired Glorfindel for even being able to walk.

The thief looked around. There was a kettle hanging over a small fire, and from the scent of the brew, a healer had been here and had begun to prepare a hyssop poultice. Erestor looked into the kettle and found his speculation confirmed. The dried herbs had been soaked in the hot water, and were now ready for further processing.

The healer was probably in another room, looking after a patient or drinking tea with a chamber maid, Erestor assumed. And as he had nothing else to do and felt that Glorfindel's injuries demanded immediate attention, he reached for a large stone bowl and a mortar and began to prepare the poultice himself.

He scooped some of the herbal mass out of the kettle and into the bowl, and then he began to search the shelves for the necessary ingredients. It was easy to find them; the healers of Imladris seemed to be as pedantic as the realm's captains. The glasses and tins were lined up in alphabetical order, and Erestor returned to his workplace with a large glass filled with cornmeal. He poured some in the bowl, added water from a nearby barrel and began to work the ingredients into a thick paste.

When he was finished, he grabbed some clean cloths piled on a nearby shelf and returned to the table on which Glorfindel still lay fast asleep. Erestor pushed Glorfindel's braids out of the way, and shook his head when he felt the texture of the blond tresses. Poems had been written about the softness and the silky texture of Elven hair, but Glorfindel's felt dry and coarse. Quite obviously, the only thing that Glorfindel did with his hair was washing it, completely ignoring further treatment like nettle oil or geranium hair tonic to keep it smooth, soft and shiny. How could anybody be so completely free of vanity?

Erestor put the bowl on a stool by the table, and took a small dollop of the paste on his finger. Then he smeared it on his wrist to check the temperature. It was just right, not too hot, and it had to be applied now, otherwise it would lose its effect. Erestor looked around and listened. Still there was no healer in sight.

Erestor shrugged. Who needed a healer, anyway? He dipped his fingers in the paste and began to apply it carefully to Glorfindel's bruises. He made sure all the affected areas were covered evenly with a thick layer of the hyssop paste. Erestor worked quickly and efficiently so the paste would not cool down, and finally covered everything with the pieces of cloth.

* * *

Glorfindel wondered briefly where the Balrog had gone. This was not the way his dream should end. Where was the fire? The whip? The fountain? The pain? There was certainly no pain in this new version of his dream, only darkness and mollifying warmth. It felt good, much better than reality, and so it was with no small degree of irritation that he realised that he was about to wake up.

He slowly drifted out off his reverie, and with awareness, pain returned. It was not as bad as before, though. Something wet and warm covered his bruised side, soothing the dull ache. Glorfindel was now fully awake, and when he looked up, he found himself, much to his surprise, looking into Erestor's face. His initial reaction was to jerk back, but his tired body would not obey. He stared in confusion at the thief who sat on the floor in front of him.

"What are you doing here? And why are you lingering on the ground like one of the dogs?" he muttered. For a moment, the two Elves stared at each other. Then Erestor moved forward. "Woof," he murmured into Glorfindel's earlap, and slowly, teasingly licked a wet trail from Glorfindel's jaw up to the tip of his ear.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel gets what he deserves.

Glorfindel was in a tight corner. On the one hand, he was ready to breathe fire and brimstone over Erestor's outrageous behaviour, and he would have loved to leap off the table and throttle the thief. On the other hand, he had noticed to his great horror that Erestor's villainy had a highly unusual and not at all expected or wanted effect on him. Getting up was no option at the moment, unless he wished to expose himself to some saucy commentary on the functionality of his little captain.

So Glorfindel stayed where he was and restricted his outrage to glaring daggers and hoped Erestor would not notice his embarrassment.

"I see somebody else has already done my work," Elrond stated, watching the exchange of looks between the two Elves and immediately noticing that something was not quite right.

Glorfindel turned his head to the Lord of Imladris, who stood at the top of the stairs, hands folded behind his back.

"I had nothing else to do, so I thought I might as well make myself useful," Erestor said.

Glorfindel did not comment, but Elrond was certain that he had heard the gnashing of teeth. He approached the two Elves, and examined the poultice Erestor had applied. He nodded in approval.

"I could not have done it better myself," he said, and gave Erestor a small smile. "A thief who is also a healer, how interesting. Now then, my dear Glorfindel, I can only repeat myself and say that you caught yourself a special bird here."

Glorfindel muttered and growled, but Elrond chose not to notice. Instead, he addressed Erestor, who looked rather smug.

"Please accompany this impatient one here back to his chamber. I will see to him later on. I have arranged for you to stay in the room next to him, as I am certain my captain here wishes to keep a close eye on you. Tomorrow, I wish to see the both of you washed and properly dressed in my study before the council."

By now Glorfindel had envisaged naked Dwarves for long enough that he could get up without embarrassing himself, and so he clambered off the table, stubbornly ignoring Erestor's offered hand.

"I do not require assistance," he stated with all the dignity he could muster, "but you are right, my lord: I will keep a close eye on him."

With that, he limped toward the door, holding the poultice in place with both hands.

"I thank you for your hospitality, my lord," Erestor said, bowing his head, "though I am disappointed that I shall not enjoy the pleasures of your famous dungeons."

Elrond arched an eyebrow.

"Dungeons? We do not have dungeons. The only Elven realm with dungeons is Mirkwood, and for all I know, those are used to store potatoes."

"No dungeons? How disappointing," Erestor said, shaking his head and sighing dramatically. "Pray tell, my lord, how can you make sure that I will still be here tomorrow if there are no bars in front of my window and no lock on the door?"

Elrond looked into Erestor's eyes. Young eyes, full of curiosity and mirth. So very different from Glorfindel's.

"Young Erestor, I have found that one does not necessarily need a lock to catch a thief," he finally said, "and if you do not make haste, Glorfindel will be in the barracks rather than in his bed faster than you could steal a set of my best silver."

Erestor, realising that he had met his match, hurried out the door and after Glorfindel, who had, indeed, been on his way to the barracks to see after his guards.

* * *

Erestor whistled off key and very loud. A maid who had served him an opulent breakfast had awakened him, and then he had enjoyed a long soak in the bathing chamber. What luxury! A bathing chamber all for himself! He could not make up his mind which of the many bathing salts and oils to use, and as he did not wish to neglect any of the precious goods, he had poured a small amount of every bottle in the hot water. As a result, Erestor smelled like a field of flowers now, and had he been outside, delirious bees would have probably gathered around him.

He switched from whistling to singing, which sounded much better. While brushing his hair, he danced naked through his chamber, for no other reason than that he could. Then he turned his attention to the robes that a servant had laid out on his bed. The Elf had explained to Erestor that "properly dressed", as demanded by Lord Elrond, meant wearing robes, and that there was absolutely no way around it. Erestor had wrinkled his nose and expressed his belief that robes were for ladies. The servant had shrugged and suggested that Erestor should share his most interesting opinion with Lord Elrond, then he had left.

After long contemplation, Erestor decided on a fern green velvet robe. He would have favoured the red one, but it was too wide for him, and the green one was the only one that fit. Erestor stood in front of the floor-length mirror and rubbed his chin. It was not bad. Of course, he looked very different in a robe - more sophisticated, older - and boring. Erestor did not mind looking sophisticated or older, but boring he would not have, so he returned to the bed and went through the pile of clothes once again. Finally, he found a bright orange sash and wrapped it around his middle.

"Much better," he said to himself. The fern green with the orange looked rather unusual, not a combination many Elves would have chosen, but Erestor liked it just fine. Having found a satisfactory solution to his clothing concerns, he was just about to finish braiding his hair when there was a knock on the door. He brushed his hair behind his ears, and went to open it.

"At least you are ready," Glorfindel growled after he had recovered from the shock of seeing Erestor looking all regal and - handsome. Now where had that thought come from? The colour combination was outrageous, and any other Elf would have looked like a goof wearing it, but on Erestor, it looked good. Or maybe it was not the robe. Maybe it was the way Erestor smiled, or maybe it was the mirth in his eyes, or - or maybe the hit to Glorfindel's head had been harder than he had thought. He would consult Elrond about it.

Erestor looked at Glorfindel, who was clad in the blue velvet robe Erestor had seen the day before in the warrior's closet. It was plain, that much was true, without embroideries or ornaments, but Glorfindel still looked very much like a lord.

"Of course I am. I have been waiting for hours for you to come and get me."

Glorfindel grumbled, then he ordered Erestor to follow him. "Try to behave in front of Lord Elrond," he told the thief, giving him a stern look. "He does not like nonsense, and while I will speak in your favour, you would be well-advised to show some respect."

"I will try my best," Erestor promised, his face all honesty and innocence. Somehow Glorfindel doubted his words.

Soon they arrived at Elrond's study, and upon knocking, the lord of Imladris invited them in. They found Elrond sitting behind his desk, studying some papers. Beside him stood Feronil, and it took Erestor but one moment to notice the look of utter devotion and love on his face. He had to hide a grin - so Elrond had a handsome young lover? How interesting. Did Glorfindel know?

"Ah, Glorfindel, Erestor, I have been waiting for you. Give me just a moment, then I will listen to your case."

Elrond passed a map to the Elf beside him.

"Feronil, please bring this to the council hall. We will need the map when we fix the new frontiers with King Glaumli II."

The advisor nodded, took the map and left the room. Elrond waited till the door had closed behind Feronil, then he gestured at two chairs and asked Glorfindel and Erestor to sit. Glorfindel sat with a rigid back, while Erestor let himself sink deep into the soft, comfortable chair.

"So you decided to give the Dwarves Green Meadow Hill then?" Glorfindel asked, and Elrond nodded.

"Indeed. We do not really need it, and it seems to hold great sentimental value for Glaumli II, as his father proposed there to his mother many years ago. I could not deny him this memory of his parent's great love for each other."

Glorfindel nodded. "A wise decision, my lord, and a noble one as well."

Erestor began to laugh. He slapped the armrest with his hands and giggled, and Glorfindel feared that he would roll onto his back any moment and pedal his feet in the air.

"May we learn the cause of this outburst of merriment, Erestor?" Elrond asked icily, and Erestor sat up straight again, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Do I have your permission to lock him up somewhere until you have come to a decision?" Glorfindel begged, but Elrond shook his head.

"Not before I know what this outrageous behaviour means. Erestor - speak."

Erestor giggled, then tried to calm down.

"My apologies, Lord Elrond, but this is too funny. I have heard so many stories of your wisdom, and now I see that you can be fooled like an Elfling."

Elrond's eyebrows made a closer acquaintance with his hairline, and Glorfindel dug his fingernails into the armrest.

"What do you mean by this?" he growled, ready to defend his lord's honour.

Erestor gave both of them a bright smile.

"It means that you two are far too sentimental for your own good. Glaumli II does not wish to possess Green Meadow Hill as a memory of his parents. He wants the hill because his prospectors found a rich lode of Mithril there."

Elrond and Glorfindel stared at Erestor as if the thief had suddenly sprouted a second head.

"Mithril?" Elrond gasped, "In my realm?"

Erestor nodded.

"Yes, and quite a lot of it. Now the Dwarves naturally have no interest in seeing a Mithril mine in the hands of the Elves. What you can mine yourself you would not purchase from them. So, I would suggest you confront Glaumli II and offer him a trade. I do not see you, Glorfindel, or myself going to work with a shovel and a pick every morning, so tell him his people can have half of the Mithril in exchange for mining the metal. He will still make a huge profit, and you will not have to purchase Mithril anymore. Good deal for both parties."

"Erestor," Elrond said, and got up from his chair, "how came you to know of this?"

Erestor looked a little guilty, considered the question, and then pulled a scroll out of his sleeve. He got up, unrolled it and gave it to Elrond, who studied the document. He first turned white, then green, and finally his face flushed dark red with anger.

"That scoundrel," he roared, "that two-times deuced Dwarven dodger!"

Now Glorfindel had jumped up as well, hurrying to his lord's side.

"What is this?" he asked, "What does the document say?"

Elrond waved the scroll in the air.

"It is the report of the prospectors, informing Glaumi II of the Mithril lode in Green Meadow Hills! Oh, I have allowed him to fool me like an Elfling!"

Elrond and Glorfindel looked at each other, then both Elves turned their heads simultaneously to Erestor, who sat in his chair, legs drawn up and resting his chin on his knees.

"Erestor. How did this scroll come into your possession?" Elrond asked sternly.

Erestor looked at the ceiling, then to the door, and finally he sighed.

"That is a little bit difficult to explain, my lord. Let us assume that I - found it," he replied, and wriggled his long fingers.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel sees to it that justice is done.

The council hall was unusually crowded. The prospect of new frontiers for Imladris and the rumour of a master thief to be judged had lured many curious spectators to the great hall, and Elrond had to hide a grin. This would be a remarkable day for all involved, and he was very satisfied that the drama would be performed in front of a large audience.

To the left, in the seats reserved for honoured guests, sat Glaumli II and his entourage. At a safe distance, a chair had been placed for Erestor. As usual, Glorfindel sat at Elrond's left, his eyes fixed on the young thief.

Feronil hit a small gong, and all talk ceased - the council had begun.

The chief advisor of King Glaumli II stood up and bowed his head in Lord Elrond's direction.

"Lord of this realm, have you come to a decision regarding my king's plea?" he asked. It was with no small amount of anger that Elrond noted the confidence of victory on the Dwarf's face.

"Indeed, Master Dwarf, I have come to a decision," Elrond replied, hiding his anger well. "I have decided that Green Meadow Hill shall remain part of Imladris."

The Dwarf's face fell, and Glaumli II jumped up.

"What do you mean by that?" he barked.

"It means that we will not give you Green Meadow Hill, King Glaumli II. However," Elrond added, a smug smile on his lips, "I will allow you to erect a memorial plate for your parents on the top of the hill."

The Dwarves protested loudly.

"You do not need the hill! It means nothing to you! But it means a lot to my king! We even offered you weapons and jewellery for the worthless pile of dirt! This is outrageous!" the advisor fumed.

Elrond rose from his seat. A tall Elf even by his own kin's standards, he towered over the angry Dwarf like a thousand year old spruce over a seedling.

"No, Master Dwarf. The true outrage is that your king sent prospectors into our realm without asking permission, to prod and poke the good earth and try to cheat me into handing over a hill full of Mithril."

The jaws of the Dwarves dropped, and their protests died down immediately. Elrond presented the scroll Erestor had given to him to the visitors.

"I am sure you remember this document. So unless you wish to spend the rest of your stay in one of my famous dungeons, you would be well advised to sit down and be quiet."

The Dwarves, who had been scared as Dwarflings by their mothers with wild tales about the dark dungeons of the Elven king in Mirkwood hurried to sit down again.

Glaumli II gnashed his teeth.

"How did this document get into your possession, Elven lord?" he asked, but Elrond only shrugged. The Dwarf looked around the room, then his gaze came to rest on Erestor, who waved at him merrily. The eyes of the Dwarf became large as saucers. He remembered their collision in the corridor, and when Erestor wiggled his fingers and winked at him, King Glaumli II hung his head in defeat.

"We shall leave right away," he grumbled, "and will not return to this realm of honourless thieves ever again."

Elrond sat down again, and shook his head.

"There is no need to leave, king of the Dwarves. We hold the skills of your people in very high regard, and if it had not been for your little unauthorised excursion into our territory, we would have never learned of this Mithril lode. So, while I do not approve of your doings, I owe you some gratitude. My people are not experienced in mining, so I would suggest to you the following deal: you mine the Mithril, and in return, you may keep half of it for yourself, to do with as you wish and deem proper."

Glaumli II stared at Lord Elrond.

"That is a very interesting offer, Elven lord. Could we agree on 60% for us and 40% for you? After all, we must do all the work..."

Elrond arched an eyebrow, and sighed deeply.  
"After all, Glaumli II, we could also plant daisies on Green Meadow Hill and forget about the Mithril. What is your decision?"

The Dwarf stroked his beard, then his face broke out in a wide smile.

"You are one clever Elf, Lord Elrond, and people are right when they say you are wise beyond measure. Agreed; here is my hand on it."

He crossed the room, and Elrond took the offered hand, making the agreement official. Both Dwarves and Elves cheered, and Glaumli II returned to his people, happy that the embarrassing affair had taken such a pleasant turn.

"Now that we have settled this, I ask the next petitioners to come forward," Elrond announced, and two farmers pushed through the rows of spectators, coming to stand in front of the lord. Both Elves bowed their heads, and Elrond returned the greeting. Feronil unrolled a scroll and read out the farmer's suit.

"They that have come before you are Elborn of the left banks and Celaron of the right banks. They have an argument regarding the building of a new mill, and wish for your counsel."

Feronil sat down again, and Elrond nodded encouragingly at the two Elves. "Tell me about your problems, my friends."

"My lord, I am Elborn, and as your advisor just stated, I have a farm on the left side of the river Nînbruin, and this is Celaron, whose farm is on the right side. We both have to travel many hours to bring our grain to the next mill, which is not only hard work, but also dangerous, as the way leads through a forest where often Wargs can be seen, and neither of us are skilled warriors. So we decided to build our own mill by the Nînbruin, to save us and our families the perilous journey."

"This is a very good idea, Elborn. I can see how both parties will profit from this plan. So where is the problem?"

"The problem is that we cannot agree on what side of the river the mill should be erected, my lord," Celaron explained, "I cannot swim, so I am afraid of crossing a river, so it would be logical to build the mill on my side."

"He is lying, my lord! I have seen him swimming like a fish, he just does not want me to have the mill on my side of the river," Elborn protested. "I am afraid of heights, so crossing a bridge is very unpleasant for me. It would be a sign of compassion to agree to my suggestion, but Celaron here has only his own good in mind."

"Liar!"

"Scamp!

"Mucker!"

"Enough! Quiet, both of you!" Elrond interrupted the bickering, and immediately, the two Elves ducked.

"Feronil," Elrond said, smiling reassuringly at his young advisor, "what would you suggest in this matter?"

Feronil blushed and bit his lips. Oh no - how could he make a decision? Both parties had a point, and no matter what he would decide, one of the two farmers would be upset with him. Maybe Elrond would allow him to flip a coin? No, probably not. Feronil fiddled nervously with his belt.

"My lord, this is difficult... I really cannot tell... maybe the right side of the river would be a good place? Though the left side might be good as well. Or would you prefer the right side? Oh, this is so difficult... left sounds good to me. Right has its advantages. Maybe they should build two mills? Or maybe... maybe they should not build a mill at all? Instead we could send guards with them every time they go to the mill, then they would be safe and would not have to argue..."

The advisor looked at Elrond with big eyes, and Elrond wished for nothing more than to take Feronil in his arms and comfort him, but that, of course, was out of the question.

"Oh, for the Valar's sake, what a howler!" Erestor's voice could be heard from across the room. "Build this ruddy mill on a bridge over the river, right in the middle! Not only will both of you have to cover the same distance, but you can also make use of the river's power."

One could have heard a needle drop in the hall, for the Elves and Dwarves hardly dared to breathe. To interrupt Lord Elrond's council in such a way! This was unheard of, at least from an Elf! All heads turned to Erestor, who sat in his chair and shook his head over Feronil's obscure advisory talents.

Elrond stared at Erestor, and for a long while, nobody spoke. Then he looked at Glorfindel, who sat petrified beside him.

"The mill shall be built right in the middle of a bridge crossing the river Nînbruin," Elrond declared, "I will send you Elves skilled in the art of bridge work, as I feel that we all can profit from this project. You may leave now."

The whole hall sighed of relief, and the two Elves retreated back to their families, happy that their plea to Lord Elrond had been so successful.

"Who is next?" Elrond asked, and Feronil, still brick read with embarrassment, fumbled out another scroll.

"Lord Glorfindel has brought before you Erestor of the Circling Raven, whom he accuses of repeated thievery, indecent behaviour and attempted horse theft."

Erestor frowned and gave Glorfindel an angry look when he heard those accusations.

"Please come here, Erestor of the Circling Raven, so that we may hear your case," Elrond ordered, not unkindly, and Erestor got up from his seat and came to stand in front of Elrond.

"While the definition of 'indecent behaviour' may be in the eye of the beholder and the horse theft, from all I have heard, happened in a situation of great danger, thievery is a serious offence, and one that has to be punished severely. Our people do not steal, and no, I do not wish to hear the story of the Silmarils again, Erestor. What do you say in your defence?"

Erestor looked a little sheepish.

"I cannot say much in my defence, my lord. Yes, it is true, I am a thief. And I am very skilled! Not many are as masterful in that profession as I am, and I take my work very seriously. I have never stolen from the poor or the ill, and I have never hurt anyone. On the contrary! Lord Glorfindel attacked me, threw me to the ground and sat on my chest. This was not very enjoyable, my lord, for Lord Glorfindel has very powerful thighs."

The audience giggled, and Glorfindel wished for the ground to open and swallow him whole.

Elrond had to hide a grin.

"So our dear captain's powerful thighs have been your downfall. I see. However, Erestor," Elrond continued, and his expression became very stern and serious again, "you must understand that we cannot allow you to continue your life in such a way. You will be punished, and I will make sure that you will not have a chance to return to your former life again."

Erestor paled, and so did Glorfindel. The warrior had not expected Elrond to be so stern. He got up and cleared his throat.

"My lord, may I speak?" he asked, and Elrond nodded. Glorfindel stepped forward, coming to stand in front of Erestor. Unconsciously, he had taken a protective position, a fact Elrond noticed in secret amusement.

"My lord, it is true that this Elf here is a thief, and that he has broken our rules. He is also annoying, obnoxious and does not know how to behave. But he is also very young, and there is still time for him to change his ways and learn how to behave as is fitting for an Elda. I understand that he needs to be punished, but please take into account that he has saved my life and the lives of my guards when he came to our aide, unarmed and alone, facing over 30 cutthroats. He accompanied us here, knowing that he would be judged."

Glorfindel felt Erestor's gaze, and turned his head.

"He... he also cared for me when I was injured. He did not have to do that, my lord. But he... well, he cared. I have nothing else to say."

Glorfindel hurried back to his seat, frowning and folding his arms over his chest.

"He cared. I see. Yes, indeed - I think I can see clearly now," Elrond murmured. He got up.

"Very well then. Erestor of the Circling Raven, I find you guilty of thievery, and you shall be punished severely."

Erestor's shoulders drooped, and Glorfindel frowned even more.

"So I have decided," Elrond continued, "that you, Erestor, shall serve as my advisor for the next century, replacing Master Feronil here, who will take over more important duties. Come forward, Master Erestor, and take your place in the council."

First there was silence, then everybody began to cheer, clap, and laugh. Everybody with exception of Feronil - the former advisor's eyes filled with tears as he fled the room. The Elves gathered around the completely dumbfounded Erestor, who stared at an equally confused Glorfindel and did not really understand what had happened.

"The council is concluded," Elrond declared, and hurried to catch up with Feronil.

* * *

He would pack his things and leave immediately, Feronil decided. Maybe he could go to live with his aunt in Lothlórien, or he could become a hermit in the Misty Mountains. Anything, anything would be better than having to live here after this humiliation. Elrond had declared him a failure, had replaced him without thinking twice. The Lord of Imladris had broken his heart, had ripped it out of his chest and trampled on it in public. Never, ever would he love again!

Feronil continued to stuff his clothes carelessly into a bag, and in his pain, he did not notice the door opening behind him.

"There is no need to leave, Feronil," Elrond said, and the young Elf startled, spinning around.

"How can I stay here," he cried, "after you have done this to me? Did you not... have you never noticed..."

Elrond reached out for the devastated former advisor, and rested his hands on his shoulders.

"I did not and I have not, until very recently. I said that there are more important things for you to do in Imladris, Feronil, and I was serious."

"What things?" Feronil asked, laughing bitterly, "Sorting scrolls? Helping in the stables? Washing dishes?"

Elrond shook his head, and ran his hands up Feronil's neck before cupping his face.

"No, my dear, dear Feronil. I do not wish you to sort scrolls, muck out the stables or help in the kitchen. I want you to be my personal advisor, my friend, my confidant, the other half of my soul."

Feronil stared at Elrond with big eyes. Certainly this was not happening? But he could feel how Elrond's thumbs caressed his cheeks, and his face flushed.

"Do you think you could do this? Do you think you could love me, Feronil?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel is getting melodramatic.

The weeks following the fateful council meeting resulted in an interesting temporal phenomenon: while time seemed to pass in flight for Erestor, hours stretched into days for Glorfindel. He had to entrust his duties to his second in command, for Glorfindel followed the newly-appointed advisor everywhere.

Erestor was eager to see and discover everything in Imladris, and so Glorfindel found himself going places and doing things he would have never considered before. Flying kites on Green Meadow Hills was among the less remarkable things Erestor dragged Glorfindel into doing, and the warrior was almost ashamed when he realised that he actually enjoyed running around with a paper eagle.

For a while, Glorfindel succeeded in convincing himself that he spent so much time in Erestor's company because it was his duty. But as the weeks passed, he had to admit that he enjoyed Erestor's company. Watching the black-haired scallywag was like looking into a mirror and seeing his own, younger self. There had been a time when the streets of Gondolin had echoed with his and Ecthelion's laughter. Those had been good days, carefree days. But Ecthelion had only played with his heart, and now he was gone, along with Gondolin and Glorfindel's jollity.

Glorfindel had to grudgingly admit that when Erestor was not around he missed him. The Elf's nimble fingers had begun knocking upon a door in Glorfindel's heart that the warrior had thought locked and sealed forever.

A scary realisation.

* * *

It had been one of the first truly hot summer days, and Erestor had successfully managed to escape Glorfindel's watchful eyes in the early morning. He was supposed to take his first lesson in sword fighting, but quite obviously had preferred not to follow Lord Elrond's orders. Glorfindel searched the Last Homely House, Elrond's rose garden, the stables, and the edge of the nearby forest, but there was neither hair nor hide of Erestor in sight.

Night approached, and still Erestor had not returned. Glorfindel began to feel seriously worried, and so he directed his steps to Elrond's office, intent upon demanding the organisation of a search party for the missing advisor.

Alas, Elrond did not share Glorfindel's worries concerning Erestor's absence, and tried to calm the upset captain.

"You know what he is like, Glorfindel. He was probably chasing a butterfly or watching the sunset. Or he is pulling a fast one on your guards again, playing the shell game."

"Shell game?" Glorfindel croaked. Elrond nodded.

"Indeed. Erestor is the most astute shell game rigger I have ever seen."

Glorfindel pinched the bridge of his nose, then shook his head.

"First thievery. Now gambling. Where shall this lead to?"

Elrond had a pretty good idea where this would lead for Glorfindel, but before he could say anything he was interrupted by loud singing in the corridor. Glorfindel rushed to the door and opened it.

It was Erestor. He was soaking wet, barefoot, and algae clung to his hair like green ribbons. The advisor halted when he saw Glorfindel, leaving a rapidly growing puddle on the floor.

"Well met," he said cheerfully, gracing Glorfindel with his most blinding smile. "Now what a lovely day I had! I hope yours has been equally pleasant?"

"Where have you been?" Glorfindel barked.

"Oh, I have discovered the loveliest waterfall, Fin!" he explained, excited about his discovery. "It was beautiful! There was a small pond as well, and..."

"... and you did not think to take off your clothes before you decided to go for a swim? And for the last time, stop calling me Fin!" Glorfindel interrupted.

Erestor looked a little sheepish and shuffled his feet.

"Well, I did, but I was already in the water by then. It was fun! You should try it as well!"

Glorfindel grabbed Erestor by the shoulders and shook him hard.

"Do not ever dare going anywhere again without telling! There are Wargs and Orcs and Wild Men out there! You could have been hurt, you fool!"

A strand of algae slipped down Erestor's wet hair, and clung to Glorfindel's hand. Disgusted, the warrior shook it off.

"Glorfindel, please calm down." It was Elrond, who had followed his friend. He placed a hand on the upset warrior's shoulder.

Glorfindel immediately let go of Erestor and wiped his wet hands on his leggings. He trembled with anger, and without a further word, he stormed off, leaving one confused advisor behind.

"Now what was that all about?" Erestor asked, removing some algae that had slipped onto his nose.

Elrond folded his arms and gave Erestor a stern look.

"That was about your latest thievery, Erestor," he said. The advisor looked uncomfortable.

"Thievery? But Lord Elrond, I did not steal anything! If you should be referring to that silver pendant... well, I found it in the garden, and returned it to the owner. Eventually. And how the sugar tongs got in my bag, I really do not know!"

This was the first Elrond had heard about the pendant and the sugar tongs, but for the moment he preferred not to investigate further. 

"I am not talking about missing cutlery, Erestor, though I hope you will not stay a thieving magpie for the rest of your life. You are a gifted advisor; I would hate to lose your talents."

Erestor hung his head.

"I am sorry, Lord Elrond. I cannot help it, I love shiny things..."

"You stole one of the shiniest things in all of Imladris, Master Erestor, and you must decide whether to keep it or return it to its owner."

Erestor looked up, clearly confused.

"Lady Arwen's necklace? I swear I never touched it! And it is not solid gold, anyway, only plated..."

Elrond's patience began to wear thin.

"No, you fool! I am talking about Glorfindel's heart!"

Erestor stared at Elrond.

"Glorfindel's heart?"

"Indeed. And just so you know, young Master Erestor: should you not treat this item with the utmost care and respect, sugar tongs and napkin rings will be the least of your concerns!"

"Uh," Erestor said, and Elrond found this to be a most fitting remark considering the circumstances.

* * *

Glorfindel would have loved to smash a vase, kick a chair across the room or bang his head against the walls. Luckily for Imladris' furniture and his health, he possessed enough self-control to restrict his anger to soliloquy.

"Three times cursed old fool," he muttered. He had lost his temper, and why? Because he had spent the best part of the day having horrible visions of a badly hurt or even dead Erestor. What was wrong with him? This was Imladris, after all, not Mordor! Elflings went to walk in the woods unattended, and the worst fate that had ever befallen an Elf in the forest surrounding Imladris had been a bellyache Elladan had to endure after eating too many blackberries.

There was a knock on the door. Without a doubt, it would be Elrond, coming to look after him. Glorfindel really did not feel like talking to his lord at the moment, but he was too polite to pretend that he was not in his room or to tell his old friend that he did not wish for company.

"Come in if you must," he said.

The door opened, revealing Erestor, who was still wet all over.

"I must not, but I wish to," the advisor said, and closed the door carefully behind him

Glorfindel opened his mouth to order Erestor to leave his chamber immediately, but no words would come.

Erestor brushed a strand of wayward hair out of his face.

"You care for me, Fin," he said, getting to the point without warning or introduction. "I noticed how you look at me, how you react. You are worried when you do not know where I am, and you miss me when I am not around. You care for me."

Glorfindel took a step back, but Erestor followed him.

"Do not run away, Fin. It is fine. You said yourself the day of the council meeting that I care for you, and you were right. I do care for you. So you care for me, I care for you. Now that we both know, could we not simply care for each other?"

Was it really this simple? Erestor certainly made it sound that way. Glorfindel did not know what to say or do. Should he leave? Stay?

"Stop thinking, Fin. You do not need any further wrinkles. I quite like the ones in the corners of your eyes, but you should not overdo it."

Glorfindel felt wet arms around his neck, and then Erestor kissed him. He had always thought that the poets exaggerated when they wrote about Elves "seeing stars" when they kissed, but he had been wrong. Glorfindel saw stars, felt like he was floating and, to make the trilogy of clichés complete, butterflies danced in his stomach.

How good this felt, having gentle hands caressing his face, Erestor's tongue teasing his own and the overall fantastic feeling of holding the advisor in his arms.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Erestor broke the kiss. He smiled at Glorfindel and licked his lips.

"Nice. I cannot wait to taste the rest of you."

With that, he began to unlace his jerkin and began to take off his wet clothes. Glorfindel watched him with increasing concern.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Preparing to muck out the stables? I am taking my clothes off, of course. I would have thought that was obvious," Erestor replied mockingly, and continued to undress.

"But Erestor... I do not wish to... I cannot..." Glorfindel stammered. He sat down on the edge of his narrow bed and raked his hands trough his hair.

"You have not seen the things I have, which is a blessing", he said. "You only know the sunny side of love, the joys of shared smiles and bodies. But there is also loss and pain, and I have seen too much of it. You are so young, Erestor. You might think that you care for me today, but..." He looked up. "I am too old for the game of love, Erestor. We have nothing in common; I will bore you very soon. I cannot be your lover, to be cast aside when a new fancy takes you."

Erestor knelt down in front of Glorfindel and poked him in the chest with his index finger.

"What a lot of melodramatic nonsense. The only fancy I take is to you. I have no manners, steal whatever shiny comes under my fingers, will embarrass you in company and ask you a million stupid questions. I will use your brush and not remove my hair after usage, leave wet towels on the floor of the bathroom and wear your favourite shirts. And on top of all of that, I am young and full of fire; I will exhaust you in the bedroom. So if anyone here is going to flee, it will be you. You caught the thief, now you have to keep him. Deal with it."

Erestor gave short shift to Glorfindel's shirt, then pressed the dumbfounded warrior down on the bed. No protests came from Glorfindel, only a yelp when Erestor's teeth worried one of his nipples.

"My, how I admire the flowery language of the Eldar," Erestor snickered, "and it will become even better! See? I have everything required to make you recite poetry, Fin."

Glorfindel watched in amazement as Erestor searched the pocket of his already unlaced leggings. He pulled out a small via, held it in front of Glorfindel's nose and shook it. The oil inside swashed lazily.

"So?" Erestor asked, grinning like a fiend and wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"One day, you will be the death of me," Glorfindel muttered.

Then he rolled over.

* * *

"So, you think that Erestor and Glorfindel have finally admitted their love for each other?"

Feronil crouched over Elrond's naked form, trying to massage away the tension from his lover's shoulders. Elrond did not answer, only nodding into his pillow and moaning when Feronil touched a sore spot.

"I am very glad to hear this. They will drive each other to madness and give us more time for ourselves. And I will need a lot of time to rid you of this gravel in your back."

The former advisor kneaded Elrond's shoulders, then worked his way with firm strokes down to Elrond's lower back. He paid special attention to his lover's buttocks, and Elrond bit the pillow to keep himself from becoming too vocal. Alas, he knew that it was a lost fight. Even the slightest of Feronil's touches set Elrond on fire, and sooner or later, the Elves in the close-by library would look up from their books, listen and then shake their heads.

Maybe he should build dungeons after all, and then move into them.

"You have done well, beloved," Feronil said. He stopped his massage and covered Elrond with his body, gasping at the overall contact of skin on skin. "You know, I think you deserve a reward for this good deed," he purred, and bit Elrond playfully in the neck. "You better get that vial with the lubricant oil out of the nightstand while you still can."

Elrond moaned. "If you should not stop sucking on the tip of my ear immediately, I will not be able to do anything at all tonight," he said, and reached to open the nightstand drawer. He searched, but could not find what he desired.

"This is odd," he murmured.

"What," Feronil asked, "is it not there? But I thought you had put it back last night?"

Feronil rolled off Elrond. He searched the drawer himself, then took out a piece of paper. He looked puzzled, read it and shook his head.

"What happened?" Elrond asked.

Feronil sighed.

"Beloved, will you do something for me?"

Elrond turned his head and gave his lover a puzzled look.

"Of course, anything you want."

"Good. Please have a lock put on your bedroom door. And now please excuse me. I have to get the salad oil."

* * *  
The End


End file.
